


Winter Melody

by dapperanachronism



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Celebrations, Festivals, Fluff, Getting Together, Holidays, Inspired by Hallmark Christmas Movies, M/M, Pining, Romantic Comedy, Winter, mentions of past relationships - Freeform, tropes galore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:14:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28300713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dapperanachronism/pseuds/dapperanachronism
Summary: Jaskier needed to get away for a few days. Leave the city, clear his head, throw himself into something else for a while. So when the opportunity came up to play in a small town with apparent next level winter holiday celebrations, he jumped at it.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 19
Kudos: 92





	Winter Melody

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chanterai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chanterai/gifts).



> This was written because of Chanterai. I showed them the Netflix The Witcher Holiday clip, they said it made them want a Geralt / Jaskier Hallmark Movie, and this idea walked into my head fully formed. 
> 
> A huge thank you goes out to [Robin_tCJ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Robin_tCJ/pseuds/Robin_tCJ) who not only listened to me talk about this for four days straight, but who also took time out her Christmas Eve Day to beta. Another huge thank you also to [Sagana_Rojana_Olt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sagana_Rojana_Olt/pseuds/Sagana_Rojana_Olt) who kept me company for hours at a time in sprints, and was an amazing cheerleader
> 
> Finally, this story is set 'modern time,' but as for the location.... is it Earth? Is it the Continent? Is it somewhere else entirely? No one knows, least of all me.

Jaskier shivers slightly as he steps from the snowy street into the warmth of the cafe — his first stop after arriving in town. The drive from the city really wasn't that long, but he’s glad to have arrived.

"Welcome!" calls a voice. Jaskier looks over towards the sound, and finds an older, dark haired man waving at him. Jaskier returns the wave, and when he gestures for him to grab a seat anywhere he'd like, he chooses to settle at one of the stools by the counter.

"Coffee?" He asks, and Jaskier barely manages a nod before he has a cup poured and slid across the counter to him. Jaskier takes the cup gratefully, holding it in his hands, savouring the warmth. Not like the walk from his car to the cafe had been long, but there’s something comforting about holding a warm cup in his hands.

"Haven't seen you around before. You just passing through?" The man asks.

Jaskier shakes his head. "No. Uh... I'm here for the winter festivities?"

The man’s eyes light up at that. "You're the musician!" He exclaims.

"Jaskier," Jaskier confirms, holding out his hand.

"Stjepan," the man replies, taking Jaskier's hand and shaking it. "Heard you were coming to help us celebrate. We're glad to have you."

Jaskier is glad to be here. Truth be told, he needs a break from the city. Needs to get away for a few days, clear his head, throw himself into a project for a while. Small town with apparent next level winter holiday celebrations had seemed like the perfect answer, so when the opportunity came up, Jaskier jumped at it. This town, it seemed, did not do anything by halves when it came to holiday celebrations. The coming days will be packed with decorating, ice sculptures, community skating, all leading to the grand finale of a town wide Carnival and musical performance by Jaskier himself. Plenty of distraction.

"I'm playing at the tavern tonight to kick things off," Jaskier says.

"So I hear. Half the town is going to be there," Stjepan informs him. Jaskier can already feel the excitement and anticipation building. Nothing better than performing in front of an appreciative audience. Stjepan slides over a hearty meal with fresh buns before excusing himself to go and deal with other customers.

The meal is fantastic, and if every meal is going to be like that this week, he is going to be in the best kind of trouble. Once done, he glances down at his watch and notes it's late enough, the tavern should be open for the afternoon. Good. He would have felt a little bad for disturbing his hosts before opening time. He quickly settles up his bill, gets directions to the tavern, and waves goodbye as he steps outside. The early afternoon air is light and crisp without being painfully cold, and the sun is shining brightly, lending a hint of warmth. Jaskier is so caught up in enjoying it, he completely misses the patch of ice he's just stepped on until he feels his feet go out from under him.

He yelps, and is flooded with a brief moment of panic as he falls backward, fully expecting to hit the hard ground. Except he's stopped short, and instead of the bone-cracking landing he's expecting, the impact is soft. He looks up, confused, and is met not with the sky, but the most beautiful eyes looking down at him. Maybe it's just the way the sunlight catches them but they look almost honey gold, and they belong to what might be the most attractive man Jaskier has ever seen. Broad shoulders, strong jaw, long pale hair tied behind his head.

"You're an angel," Jaskier says without thinking as the man helps him to his feet. The man grunts in response, and as soon as Jaskier has his feet about him, the man is walking away, disappearing inside the cafe.

Jaskier hadn't even had a chance to ask his angel's name.

* * *

Ard Skellig is probably the most quintessential, picturesque tavern into which Jaskier has ever had the joy of stepping foot. It's all wood paneling inside, and warm lights with a roaring stone fireplace, and a tall U shaped oak bar set in the back. Jaskier immediately loves it. Bag in hand and guitar slung over his shoulder, he makes his way over to where a red headed woman is standing behind the bar, putting away a tray of clean glasses. She looks up as he approaches, and asks, "Jaskier?" He nods, and she grins, grabbing a couple of tumblers and a bottle, pouring a measure of whisky into each glass and pushes one across the bar over towards him. He raises an eyebrow questioningly, and she shrugs, picking up her glass. "Sun's over the yardarm somewhere. To the festival season."

Well, who is Jaskier to argue with that? He takes his own glass and raises it. "To the festival season," he agrees, tossing the drink back. It's a pleasant, earthy burn that warms his chest on the way down.

"I'm Cerys," she says, taking the glass from him and setting them both aside. "Crach -- my da -- will be here in a bit. Asked me to get you settled in the meantime." She motions for him to follow, and Jaskier grabs his things and does just that. She takes him out the back of the tavern and down a short path to a where a small log cabin sits. "Guest house," she explains, opening the cabin up and handing him the keys. "Crach got it all ready for your arrival. Bedroom's over there, bathroom, kitchen," she points everything out while Jaskier looks around the small living room area. The cabin is incredibly cozy, and far more than he'd expected when Crach had informed him that accommodation would be provided during his stay. "I'll let you get settled, but come find me if there's anything you need."

She leaves him, and Jaskier sets about settling into the little space. It's a perfect home away from home, and from the living room window he has a beautiful view of the foothills up into the mountains. It's a pity that he's only here for a few days, he can already feel that this town is full of inspiration. A blessing, since he also only has a few days to write the holiday song for the town Crach had asked of him.

There are still a number of hours before he's meant to start his performance that evening, but he takes the opportunity to play a little, getting his fingers loosened up in anticipation. He's grateful to be able to play at all right now, honestly. A fall on the ice like that could have easily messed up a wrist, or arm, and then where would he be? First day in town, and already unable to meet his obligations. He really does owe his nameless angel his thanks. Which means he really should find out who his nameless angel _is._

Setting his guitar aside, Jaskier grabs his jacket and heads back across to the tavern, letting himself in the back way again. Cerys is still behind the bar, and it's his intention to interrogate her to see if she might know who his handsome stranger is. But as he looks across the room, it becomes apparent that destiny has intervened and his quest is over before it really begins. How fortuitous. As thought the fates have aligned to bring him back to his white-haired saviour.

"Cerys. Cerys, darling, I need to know. Who is that?" he demands, sliding up to the side of the bar and gesturing surreptitiously to the man. There aren't many people in the tavern, a small afternoon crowd, catching a late lunch or drink. A few older gents watching a game on the TV. But Jaskier makes it clear who he's talking about.

"You mean the one playing Gwent with Crach?" She asks. Jaskier takes a second look, and realises he hadn't even noticed the broad shoulder man whose hair and thick beard were the same shade as Cerys’. Jaskier just nods, his eyes drifting back to his stranger. He's even more gorgeous than Jaskier had first thought, and he's having a very, very hard time looking away. "That's Geralt," Cerys tells him. "Moved here a little less than a year ago. Keeps to himself mostly, but he and dad get on well. He stops in every once in a while for an afternoon drink and a few rounds of cards. Dad's just happy he found someone who's as keen on Gwent as he is."

Before Jaskier can interrogate her further about Geralt, there's a ring of a doorbell from the back, and Cery's leaves, muttering about a delivery that's running late. Never one for shyness, Jaskier decides that since he's found Geralt, he better make good on his want to thank the man. He strolls over towards the table, but before he can say anything or so much as a hello, let alone a smooth opening line that would sweep Geralt off his feet, Crach looks over and notices him.

"Ah! You must be Jaskier!" Crach says, rising and taking Jaskier's hand in greeting, leaning in to slap a broad hand against his shoulder. "Glad you made it. Settled in alright? Meant to be here to meet you myself."

"Just fine, thank you. Really, quite a lovely place you have here."

Crach must catch the way Jaskier's eyes briefly dart over to Geralt, because the next thing Crach says is, "Let me introduce my friend, Geralt. Absolute fiend at Gwent. Geralt, this is Jaskier, the musician we brought in for the festival."

"We've met actually," Jasker says quickly. "Geralt saved my life this afternoon." Geralt snorts at that, but Jakier presses on. "It's true! I'm a musician, my hands are my livelihood. A broken wrist would have been catastrophic."

"Should have worn better shoes. Have a hard time getting around in those," Geralt nods to the light pair of runners Jaskier is currently wearing as he plays his last card. Crach swears a blue streak as Geralt takes the round and the game both.

"Excuse you. I'll have you know that I _did_ bring proper boots, thank you very much. I just wasn't wearing them for driving. Or coming a few metres to the tavern. I _did_ pack proper boots for running around an outdoor winter festival," Jaskier huffs right back at him. "I actually came over here to thank you, _Geralt._ And to introduce myself since I was so stunned by you sweeping in to rescue me, dashing hero that you are, that I never had the chance earlier."

"Crach!" Cerys calls, reappearing from the back. "Need your help on this order, sorry."

Crach is chuckling as he stands and claps Jaskier on the shoulder again. "Take my deck and play this rascal while I'm gone, will you? Shouldn't be long." Crach disappears with Cerys, and Geralt looks as though he expects Jaskier to leave. Which is of course is part of why Jaskier sits himself right down in the chair Crach has recently vacated. Of course, the other reason is because he's just been handed on a silver platter a ready-made excuse to spend a few minutes with Geralt, and he's not about to spurn that gift.

"Right, then," Jaskier says, taking a moment to flip through Crach's deck to familiarise himself with what he's playing, Northern Realm against Geralt's Scoia'tel. It's been a while since Jaskier has played Gwent, but he is rather good, and Crach has a strong deck. But a few turns into the first round, he learns exactly why Crach had been cursing. Geralt is absolutely ruthless, and when he decimates Jaskier in the first round, his expression never changes. Not until Jaskier says, "So, that's how it is then. Alright, Geralt. Bring it on," does Geralt's face shift, the corner of his mouth twitching up into the barest ghost of a smile.

Jaskier finds his rhythm, and takes the second round easily. Geralt looks nothing short of determined, and they're neck and neck right to the end. But a lucky draw following his second round victory is what pushes Jaskier over the edge, beating Geralt by a mere two points to claim the game.

"Ha!" He exclaims as Geralt doesn't quite manage to catch up to him. "That might very well be the closest match I have played in... a long time." It's just then that Crach returns, in time to see that Jaskier has in fact been victorious.

"Ah, well done lad," Crach compliments him brightly.

Jaskier beams, and sticks his hand out across the table to shake Geralt's. "Brilliant game. I can see why he calls you a fiend." He quickly gets to his feet and gives Crach his spot back. "Well, I'll let you two get back to it then. Crach, lovely to meet you. Geralt, thank you again for saving me. Truly, I would be at a loss without you. I'll be playing here tonight to kick off the festivities. It would be lovely to see your handsome face among the crowd. Do consider staying." He winks at Geralt, and takes his leave, not looking back as he slips into the back to find Cerys dealing with the last of the order that had come in.

"Good luck with that one," she tells him as he flops down into a chair in the back next to her.

"However do you mean?"

"Geralt. I told you, he keeps to himself. Certainly hasn't shown much interest in the festival. If you're trying to hit on him, good luck. You have your work cut out for you."

"Maybe I'm just trying to be friendly," Jaskier protests. Cerys just laughs at him, like she can see right through him. Which, clearly she can. He's known her all of ten minutes, and he both hates and adores her. Mostly adores. "Okay fine, maybe I'm trying to be _very_ friendly. And, I think you can help. You said he comes around here a fair bit, so you must know something about him."

"Not much," Cerys admits. "He doesn't talk much about himself, or his life before coming here. I know he came here to recovery from an injury of some sort. Not sure the details, but it sounds like something that happened when he was working with his brothers. Before you ask, I don't know what they were working on, or where. “

"Well that is entirely unhelpful," Jaskier pouts. Cerys just shrugs and waggles her eyebrows suggestively, like she's onto Jaskier secret motivation behind his interrogation. Which, fair. Subtly has never been his strong suit. Fine then. Looks like he's got his own personal mission outside celebrating this week -- get to know Geralt.

* * *

Jaskier takes to the small stage set up in the tavern just after supper. He's honestly a little surprised at the turn out -- the tavern is packed, standing room only, Crach and Cerys are both running back and forth behind the bar pouring drinks, and Crach's help in the kitchen is going full force sending out food. The garland strung around the tavern is all lit up, and the fireplace is little more than burning coals, mostly because they definitely don't need the extra heat with all these people.

Jaskier is filled with the pre-performance jitters that come not from nerves, but from a buildup of excitement and energy just waiting to burst free in the music. The set up is simple, just him and his guitar, with the simple sound system, but that's all he needs. And, if he's being completely honest, he likes these kinds of performances best. They're more intimate, and he feels connected to his audience in a way that he feels down into his very soul.

He takes to the stage, spends a moment introducing himself, thanking Crach for inviting him that week, sharing his first impressions of the town which is of course met with cheers. Once his audience is good and warmed up, he starts playing.

He's spent an absolutely outrageous amount of time curating this set list. He's spent nearly an hour on the phone with Crach the week prior, trying to get a feel for the kind of music that the audience would most enjoy. What he finally settled on was a cross section of holiday tunes, classic folk songs, and a couple of his own original creations. He strategically balances the songs meant to entice the audience to sing along and the jigs meant to get them dancing with slower ballads meant to captivate their attention, and strategically allow them a few minutes to catch their breath. Being a musician is one thing, but being a performer is an art form all to itself. It's a distinction Jaskier is _very_ passionate about, and one that he's gotten into a fair few arguments about. But he prides himself on being both, and doing both well, thank you very much.

Partway through his first set, his eyes are scanning the room, gauging the reaction of his audience when he spots a familiar figure tucked at the very end of the bar in a corner. It seems that Geralt _has_ stayed. And, judging by the way that his body was half turned towards the stage, his eyes looking in Jaskier's direction, he’ss actually been watching and listening. Jaskier's delight is channeled into his next song, playing a very enthusiastic piece that has him dancing around the stage area in excitement right along with the audience.

He concludes his first set after that to give himself a break. He desperately needs water. And possibly a drink. He sets aside his guitar as the crowd disperses to order more food and refresh their drinks. The bar is crowded, but Cerys still passes him water and a pint as soon as she sees him. Jaskier nods his thanks -- there's no way she'd hear him right now, and her attention is already being pulled elsewhere -- and makes his way over to the end of the bar where Geralt is still sitting with his own half empty glass, giving off some very intense 'Do Not Approach' vibes. So, of course, Jaskier approaches. He slides right up next to him, between his stool and the wall.

"I love how you just sit in the corner and brood," he says playfully. Geralt just hums in response. Not big on words it seems. "You stayed to listen, I'm delighted!"

"Was helping Crach all afternoon. Just finishing dinner when you started," Geralt explains.

"And yet you still stayed. My comment stands, I am _delighted._ Tell me, what did you think of my performance?" When Geralt doesn't respond, Jaskier presses on, "Oh come on now. Three words or less."

"They enjoyed it," Geralt says, nodding his head out towards the room. It wasn't quite what Jaskier was looking for, but he'll take it. Geralt hasn't said _he'd_ enjoyed it, but Jaskier rationalises that he wouldn't have stayed for another round and the whole set if he absolutely hated it.

Someone calls his name, and he glanced up to see a group gesturing him over, wanting to talk. Jaskier smiles at them, and holds up one finger to indicate he'll be along in just a tick. "Well, seems I have to make the rounds before the next set. I do hope I see you later?"

Geralt doesn't respond, but he also doesn't flinch or pull away as Jaskier very intentionally brushes his shoulder as he squeezes out of the corner and heads over to the group that beckoned him.

The second set goes off even better than the first, and by the time Jaskier concludes his performance, he's flying high, giddy on adrenaline and the joy of a satisfied audience. A number of folks begin filtering out, but a small group stays for another post performance round, waving Jaskier to come and join them, passing him rounds of whisky as thanks. Jaskier looks around for Geralt, his heart sinking a little when he discovers Geralt has already left. It's a touch disappointing, but not enough to sour his admittedly delightful mood. That just means that he'll have to track Geralt down later. What a hardship that will be.

* * *

The following morning gets off to a bit of a slow start. The night prior had gone on far later than expected, a handful of friends of Crach and Cerys staying well past the taverns normal closing time. Jaskier had of course stayed up with them, losing all track of time, completely enraptured by the stories being told of younger days, and all the shit they all got up to sailing and working the islands before coming to the mainland. Crach had only come to the village to clear up the estate of a distant relative who'd owned the tavern and had no immediate family of his own and so had willed everything to Crach. It was only supposed to be a few weeks, sort out the paperwork, sell the place, close the estate and be done. "That was ten years ago," Crach had laughed. "I didn't decide to stay so much as I just didn't decide to leave. This town does that to you." They went back to the islands often to visit, Cerys explained, But the Ard Skellig tavern was home now.

After laying in bed far too long, the need for coffee and food to chase away the lingering hangover becomes too great to ignore. Jaskier rolls into the cafe just in time for the lunch rush, but is absolutely delighted when Stjepan sets down a plate of bacon and eggs beside a steaming cup of coffee. "You are a saint, my dear Stjepan. I will write an ode to you and sing it across the land," Jaskier promises, as he digs into the breakfast.

By the time he's done, he actually feels human again, and ready to take on the afternoon. Which is probably for the best, because the cookie decorating party is set to begin soon. Since Jaskier is there already, he helps Majorie, one of Stjepan's delightful staff, set everything up. She had been in the kitchen all morning baking trays of gingerbread and sugar cookies in the shapes of snowmen, trees, candy canes, and people. Together, they rearrange the tables in the cafe to set up decorating stations filled with boxes of cookies, icing, candy, sprinkles, and everything one could possibly need to decorate festive cookies. The first of the families arrive shortly after, the children squealing with delight as they beeline towards the table and immediately grab cookies to start decorating. It is, quite possibly, the most adorable thing Jaskier has seen, and he doesn’t even care that he’s going to soon have to deal with children hopped up on sugar.

As the afternoon passes, the cafe is filled with people coming and going to join in decorating, and not just families either. Jaskier is delighted to see people of all ages stopping in -- groups of friends, couples, grandparents, people who arrive alone and are immediately offered a chair at a table filled with people. His chest aches, not with pain, but with so much joy that he feels it will burst. He's kept busy most of the time running back and forth to the kitchen with Marjorie to help keep the stations supplied, but he does manage to get time to decorate a plate of cookies himself, and to chat with a number of people about his performance the night prior. Everyone it seems is looking forward to hearing what he's going to write for the night of the carnival. It feels like a huge amount of pressure, but looking around at all the laughing and smiling set to a soundtrack of holiday classics playing over the cafe speakers, it's impossible not to feel inspired. Jaskier is definitely up to the challenge, and at one point he has to stop everything he's doing mid sentence to jot down some ideas in the little book he's taken to carrying around.

As things begin to wind down for the day, Jaskier takes his plate of cookies and the idea that has been slowly forming in his mind over the course of the afternoon. Crach had mentioned the night prior that Geralt lives just outside the edge of town, tucked back near the edge of the treeline. The town itself is very small, and it turns out it's not that hard to find Geralt's place, partly because when he arrives, Geralt himself is outside in the front yard chopping wood. Which is a pretty clear confirmation that he's not about to drop cookies on a random stranger's doorstep.

"Geralt!" He calls, walking up the drive and across the yard.

Geralt stops his chopping and looks up, head tilting in confusion as though he can't quite comprehend why Jaskier is standing in his front yard. "I brought you cookies," Jaskier says, holding out the wrapped plate. They aren't the prettiest looking things. It turns out that decorating with icing is really bloody difficult, but they were crafted lovingly by him and he's proud of them.

"Cookies," Geralt says blankly.

"Yes, cookies. From the cookie decorating this afternoon. You missed quite a time Geralt," he explains. "So I thought I would bring you some so you could still enjoy them." And if it also gave Jaskier an excuse to see Geralt again, well that was just a little bonus to himself for spreading the holiday cheer.

"That was... unnecessary," Geralt says.

Jaskier just rolls his eyes and holds the plate out. "Of course it's not necessary. But it's nice! I get the distinct impression that this town is all about sharing the holiday cheer. Even with people who don't feel much holiday cheer themselves." He stares at Geralt very pointedly and shakes the plate a little. Geralt huffs, but pulls the plastic covering aside and takes a snowman sugar cookie with little candy buttons, and takes a bite. Jaskier grins, taking one himself. Deciding not to push his luck, he moves to set the plate down on the porch, planning to conveniently 'forget' it when he leaves.

As soon as Geralt is done, he picks up his axe and sets back to work splitting more wood. Jaskier takes the opportunity to look around, taking in the sight of the well kept cabin that looks like a slightly bigger, slightly upgraded version of the guest house that he is staying in. Beside the house is a fenced in paddock with a small barn towards the back. For the first time since his arrival, Jaskier notices the beautiful chestnut horse that's hanging her head over the fence, watching Geralt curiously.

"Oh hello there gorgeous," Jaskier coos, heading over to the horse.

"Careful," Geralt warns without even so much as looking over at Jaskier.

As soon as Jaskier is in reach, the hoses shoves her nose against his shoulder, and makes as though to nip him. Jaskier yelps and jumps back out of her reach, and he can hear Geralt grunt a laught at him. "Roach won't actually bite you. Probably. But she'll make a very good threat of it."

"Probably," Jaskier repeats. "That's not the comfort you think it is, Geralt."

"Wasn't meant to be a comfort."

"You know, you are very mean," Jaskier informs him. Geralt pauses his wood chopping long enough to raise an eyebrow at Jaskier. Being the very mature adult that Jaskier is, he sticks his tongue out in response and then proceeds to ignore Geralt in favour of Roach. "He is very mean. You shouldn't be like him, he's a terrible influence. I bet you're actually a good and nice horse who just spends too much time around Mr. Grumpy over here." He holds out his hand again, and this time Roach nudges against it a little more gently. Jaskier takes it as permission and starts petting her nose and down the long line of her face from her forehead. "See, you're a nice horse after all. Good Roach. I'm sorry, I didn't know you would be here, or else I would have brought you an apple. Next time." Roach whinnies softly, and Jaskier decides that means that his apology is accepted.

Leaving Roach, he comes around and turns his attention back to wood chopping. It's cool out, but because of the activity, Geralt is only wearing a long sleeved shirt and a pair of leather gloves to keep his hands warm and still give him grip on the axe. The shirt stretches beautifully across his shoulders, emphasizing the not insignificant amount of muscle in his strong back. He moves with practised ease, each swing cleaving the wood in half with one stroke, his whole body working with each movement. Jaskier would be happy to just stare the rest of the afternoon, save that he's pretty convinced he'd start drooling which was not a pretty sight.

"So, Roach," he says to give himself something other than just watching Geralt to focus on. "Did you get her when you moved here or before?"

"Before," Geralt grunts.

"How long have you had her?"

"Few years."

Alright, short answers were better than no answers. At least they were getting somewhere.

"Where did you live before you came here?" He asks.

"Somewhere else."

"Yes, thank you Geralt, That is most helpful. Somewhere else, that does stand to reason that if you weren't here, you were somewhere else."

Geralt is quiet for a moment as he sets another log in place on the chopping block, and then adds, "Mostly on the other side of the pass," nodding up towards the mountains. Now they were getting somewhere.

"And what did you do over there?' Jaskier asks eagerly.

"Family business," Geralt responds, and there is a sudden sharp edge in his tone that isn't exactly directed towards Jaskier, but is still a warning nonetheless. Family business. That's suitably vague. Could mean any number of things. Maybe they had a lovely family horse farm or something, but somehow, Jaskier figures that likely isn't the case. Contrary to what many will say about him, Jaskier does in fact know when he shouldn't push. He just usually decides to do it anyway. Not this time though. He takes the unspoken warning, the tightness that's suddenly appeared in Geralt's shoulders, and backs off.

"Well, this is a lovely little town to spend some time in," Jaskier tells him. "Speaking from my expert experience from the last 24 hours." He picks up a couple of stray pieces of wood that have been split but not stacked and brings them over to the pile a few meters away. "It seems like this town has a lot of spirit. And not just holiday spirit I mean. It's got.. I dunno, something else. I'm not even sure how I'll manage to capture it in a song." He grabs a few more pieces of wood to bring to the pile and launches into a monologue that's more just thinking out loud about everything he's observed so far, what's to come, and how that should be put into a song. He talks through the merits and pitfalls of various styles picking up ideas and discarding them just as quickly as he continues to absently gather the wood. It gives him something to do with his hands while he's thinking; staying still has never been something that mixed well with his creative process.

Geralt, for his own part, doesn't say much. Periodically he'll hum or grunt in acknowledgement at something Jaskier says, but he doesn't respond to any of the questions Jaskier poses, or deliver an opinion in any way. Which, honestly, is perfectly fine. He's also not visibly annoyed, and he hasn't told Jaskier to fuck off, so that's nice.

Before he realises it, the afternoon sun is waning, and the pile of wood that Geralt was splitting is gone, all chopped up and stacked neatly in the pile. Jaskier blinks in surprise. "Oh! Well then. That was... quick?" He glances over at the pile that is now significantly larger than when he first arrived. "That is a lot of wood. Surely that will keep you warm and cozy for the winter." While all the houses in the village had heating, Jaskier has picked up on the fact that they all also have wood stoves or fireplaces as well.

"It's not all for me," Geralt tells him.

"Oh, I see. Sharing your 'wood' with the village, eh?" Jaskier winks at him suggestively.

Geralt stares back at him deadpan. "I'm certain that Old Man Bernard is only interested in what goes into his fireplace."

"Well you never know, until you ask," Jaskier tells him.

"I'll be sure not to ask when I make tonight's deliveries."

"Oh tonight? Good! Then you will be around in town after to go skating with me.”

"Skating," Geralt says in disbelief.

"Yes, skating. It's the village skate tonight as I'm sure you know."

"I don't skate," Geralt informs him.

"Wonderful! Neither do I. We'll figure it out together! I'll see you then!" Grinning, he waves at Geralt, and before Geralt has a chance to protest, Jaskier is walking away back towards town. He glances over his shoulder just before the bend in the path and sees Geralt standing in front of the porch, plate in hand, taking a bite of another cookie.

* * *

The skating rink has been lovingly and painstakingly created in an empty field at the end of the main street. In their downtime over the last several weeks, the volunteer fire department had set about carefully flooding the frame crafted for this very purpose, layer upon layer of ice built up, flooding and freezing. The result was a beautiful, smooth, and frankly massive ice patch with more than enough space to accommodate the crowd that has turned out, skates in hand. There’s a small bonfire going, a few people have brought heaters, and someone is serving hot drinks at a makeshift 'warm up' station. There are a few teams of horses harnessed up to sleighs, ready to take passengers on a predefined loop down the main street, through the square, out to the edge of town, and around along a path back to the skating rink. Because not only is there skating tonight, there are actual sleigh rides under the stars. The more Jaskier experiences, the more he’s beginning to think this town can not be real. Every picture perfect holiday moment seems to be encapsulated in this festival. Too bad he doesn’t have a special someone to share it with. But no, that is fine. He gets to experience it with everyone.

As if on cue, another more familiar horse appears, pulling a small, empty sled behind her. Her rider sits up tall in the saddle, hair almost shining under the moon and starlight. "Geralt! You made it!" Jaskier says brightly. He'd honestly given it even odds on whether or not Geralt showed up. Seeing him again now, dismounting Roach and giving her a pat before unhitching the sled and tying her to one of the pickets sends his heart absolutely soaring. Geralt stoops to pick up a pair of skates from the sled and makes his way over to where Jaskier is standing with his own borrowed skates. "How delightful for you to stop by. You've made my night," Jaskier tells him truthfully.

"I was in the area," Geralt shrugs, but unless Jaskier is mistaken, Geralt looks a little pleased. Together, they make their way over to one of the benches and sit to swap their boots for skates. Jaskier hasn’t been skating since he was a child, and even then, it had only been a time or two. Geralt gets laced up first and heads to the ice with Jaskier stumbling after him, wobbling like a newborn fawn. Somehow, he manages to get down to the ice, which he considered a pretty major accomplishment. He looks up to tell Geralt as much, only to find Geralt coasting by, doing easy figure eights in their corner of the ice, his feet moving gracefully to push him through each turn. Once he sees that Jaskier has made it down to the ice, he swings back around and comes to a sharp controlled stop right in front of Jaskier.

"Excuse me," Jaskier says dumbfounded. "I thought you said that you didn't skate."

"I don't," Geralt shrugs.

"Then what do you call that magnificent display?"

"I said that I don't skate. Not that I didn't know how," Geralt explains.

Jaskier is about to open his mouth and say something about splitting hairs, but he catches a twinkle in Geralt's eye and realises that Geralt was messing with him. His heart flutters again as he says, 'Well fine then. But for the record, I neither skate, nor know how to skate." As if to prove his point, he tries to push away from the edge of the rink, wobbles a little, pushes off with his other foot like he’s seen everyone do, and immediately faceplants. He's saved again by Geralt's strong arms and quick reaction. Geralt helps Jaskier back to standing, and Jaskier immediately grabs his shoulder to keep himself stable.

"You really are making a habit of saving me from meeting an untimely, ice-related death," Jaskier remarks.

"Lot of people would be disappointed if you couldn’t play at the carnival," Geralt agrees. Jaskier can't help but wonder if Geralt would be one of them.

Geralt shifts, pulling away from him, and Jaskier squawks in protest, grabbling wildly at Geralt until Geralt grabs one of his gloved hands in his own. "Give me your other hand," Geralt demands. Jaskier, who's still feeling a little unsteady on his feet, hesitantly offers his other hand. "Good. You had the right idea before. Push off with one foot, let yourself glide, and then push off with the other."

Jaskier does as instructed, pushing himself with his right foot, blade barely leaving the ice as he drifts forward. His center of balance is all off, and he nearly topples forward, but Geralt's arms are stiff, giving him something to catch and brace himself on while he rights himself again. Huh. That's not so bad. He tries again, and it's a little easier this time, knowing what to expect. As he pushes forward, Geralt expertly skates backward, occasionally glancing over his shoulder to make sure they don't crash into anyone else while never letting go of Jaskier's hands. Jaskier lets himself be led around the rink like this, slowly growing more comfortable with the kind of smooth, sort-of-consistent strides he's managing.

They eventually wander over to the far side of the rink where there are fewer people, and the ice is less chewed up when Geralt stops them. "Try on your own now," he says.

Jaskier looks at him with wide-eyed horror. "That is a terrible idea. Geralt - Geralt don't you leave me!" But Geralt has already let go and moved back, his hands a few inches away from Jaskier's but just out of reach. Jaskier pushes himself forward, chasing after his life line, but Geralt expertly manages to stay just out of reach. Before Jaskier realises what's happening, he's skating on his own. "Geralt! I'm doing it! I am the ice king!" Jaskier cheers. He throws up his hands into the air which sends him wobbling off balance again. He manages to catch himself before falling over, but Geralt's arm is already appearing around his waist just in case.

From there, they skate side by side for a while, giving Geralt a chance to actually skate facing forward for once, though he sticks to Jaskier's still painfully slow speed. Still, as they circle the rink over and over again, Geralt doesn't look remotely annoyed. At one point, Jaskier dares to reach over and take his hand, ostensibly for the balance even though he's been doing fine on his own. But Geralt doesn't comment on it, and neither does he pull away.

Eventually, when Jaskiers' feet are completely aching, they make their way back to the populated edge of the rink and stumble together towards the benches they'd left their boots near. Jaskier is breathless and giddy as he unlaces the skates, though he ends up groaning in relief once his feet are finally free. He can't believe he just learned how to skate. He can't believe _Geralt_ taught him to skate.

They're walking back towards Roach when Jaskier sees an empty sleigh pulled by a pair of draft horses and their driver, just waiting for a group of passengers to go on a ride. "Geralt," Jaskier says, tugging on his sleeve. "We have to go on a sleigh ride."

"We don't have to," Geralt says, and Jaskier almost pouts.

"But there is an empty sleigh right there just waiting for us. It's fate!"

Geralt might try and say something to scoff the claim of fate, or make some comment about nothing stopping Jaskier from going, but it's drowned out by Crach appearing, clapping Geralt on the back. "Brilliant plan," Crach says. Behind him, Cerys is trying her best to stifle a laugh, and failing miserably. Before Geralt can get out so much as a protest, Crach is ushering them all up into the sleigh, he and Geralt on one side facing Cerys and Jaskier on the other. Crach pulls out a thermos and a few small cups, and passes around hot chocolate to them all, including the driver as the horses begin their march down Main Street.

"I'm sure Roach will forgive you," Jaskier says to Geralt once they're on their way.

"Why would Roach need to forgive me?" Geralt asks, looking at Jaskier as though he’d suddenly lost his mind.

"Because you're going on an adventure with another horse," Jaskier explains earnestly. "You're worried she'll be jealous. That's why you didn't want to come. I'm sure Roach will forgive you."

Geralt huffs at that, and tries hard to look annoyed, but it doesn't really take.

The sleigh loops around out towards the edge of town as Jaskier looks up towards the sky and gasps at the sight. The sky is clear that night, the stars shining brightly, the mountains a deep black silhouette against the inky sky, and when Jaskier looks up towards the north, he sees the borealis dancing across the expanse. He's fairly certain he's never seen anything more beautiful in his entire life.

"Ancient myths say they're the reflection from the shields of the Valkyrie in Valhalla," Chrach explains as they all look up to watch the display. Jasker leans back in his seat so as to not have to crane his neck as much, and ends up with his knee pressed against Geralt's leg. It's somehow still there when they at last pull back up in front of the ice and disembark the sleigh. Jaskier gives both of the horses a gentle pat, and thanks them (and their driver) for the lovely excursion. Cerys waves goodbye and scurries off to meet up with friends, and Crach ends up pulled away into a conversation, leaving Jaskier walking alone with Geralt back to Roach, which he definitely doesn't mind.

Roach doesn't look remotely jealous when they arrive, but Jaskier still gives her a scratch behind the ears, and leans in to stage whisper, "You're still his favourite horse, I promise." Geralt gets Roach untied from the post and leads her back to the small sled he'd pulled the wood into town on, hitching her back up.

The evening is winding down, and Jaskier finds himself reluctant to say goodbye. "Thank you, Geralt," he says instead. "For, well, all of it. For teaching me how to skate, for going on the sleigh ride. I had a really nice time."

Geralt hums thoughtfully before saying, "You're welcome. I... enjoyed myself." It sounds like it was a little challenging to say, but the words still warm Jaskier’s heart because he knows Geralt means them. He doesn't really seem the type to bother saying something he doesn’t mean.

Geralt mounts up on Roach, but doesn't turn her towards home yet. For a long moment, Jaskier and Geralt just look at each other, something passing between them before Jaskier says, "I'll see you tomorrow?"

Geralt nods, and Jaskier can feel that his responding grin is as bright as the green and pink lights streaking across the sky. Geralt nudges Roach into a trot, and Jaskier turns to start the walk towards his little cabin, an extra spring in his step.

* * *

The festival schedule for the following day involves Ice Sculpture Contests and Ice Canoe Racing down on the river, which all sounds rather exciting. It had ended up being another late night for Jaskier, not because of drinking and stories this time, but because by the time he'd reached his cabin, words and melodies were spilling out of him. He channelled everything he'd been feeling that evening into his music, and by the time he'd finally collapsed into bed, he'd had a draft of a song for the town done. He'd spent most of the morning after waking workshopping it into something a little more polished. He honestly did feel like he was managing to capture the essence of the town and the festival into something that was on track to be one of his best songs ever. It was like magic. This place was turning into one hell of a muse.

When Jaskier arrives at the Ice Sculpture contest, the judges are just laying out all of the rules to the contestants. There are rows of massive ice blocks set up, one for each person, and when the judges give the go ahead, each contestant rushes to their station to begin working. The blocks of ice are of a small enough size that finishing the sculpture that day is reasonable, but the artists are still wasting no time. It's fascinating to watch them lay out their stencils, and set the initial lines. Everyone has a whole assortment of saws, chisels, even a couple of heat guns he notices, with long extension cords running to a generator. Jaskier picks his way around to each block in turn, and is absolutely delighted when a number of people show him their planning sketches and explain what they're doing and how they plan to get to the end products. Jaskier might be an artist, but he still finds it challenging to envision how a cube of ice will eventually be transformed into an animal, or a tree, or a person.

He somehow manages to resist the urge to completely inundate anyone with his questions -- they are on a time frame after all -- and steps back, content to just watch the master pieces unfold. In fact, he's so caught up in watching, he completely misses Geralt's arrival until he's standing right next to him. "Geralt!" He yelps in surprise when he realises Geralt has seemingly appeared out of thin air. His attention is diverted then, his mind graciously supplying him with the memory of Geralt's hands in his leading him around the rink, the warmth of their legs pressed together in the sleigh under the light filled sky, the way Geralt's eyes had lingered on him before they'd parted. If Jaskier's cheeks turn slightly red, well that's just the cold.

"It's impressive, don't you think? I'm looking forward to seeing how they turn out. It's hard to picture them. Maryam is making a moose, did you know? A moose! With Antlers! Carved out of ice." He can't fathom the delicate intricate work that would go into carving antlers and not accidently breaking them.

"And I suppose you were already bothering all of them with endless questions?" Geralt teases — because Jaskier has picked up on his teasing tone, and the slight way it differs from his normal tone.

"You know me so well already, Geralt darling." Of course, Geralt has first hand experience with Jaskier's inquisitive nature. "Besides, you weren't here to keep me out of trouble."

"I doubt anyone could keep you out of trouble," Geralt points out. And, well, he's not exactly wrong.

The only downside for the contestants is that they are going to miss out on watching the Ice Canoe Races, which are taking place during their work time, but they all seemed so absorbed in their work that Jaskier doesn't think they mind too much. The judging won't take place until after the races, and so Jaskier and Geralt eventually make their way down towards the river with the majority of the crowd drifting in that direction, leaving only a handful of people with the ice carvers.

Ice Canoe Racing sounds... honestly quite insane as far as Jaskier is concerned. Insane, and potentially very cold. But he's incredibly excited to watch from the safety of the dry shore. As they walk towards the river, he asks Geralt about the races, and for once Geralt is actually quite forthcoming with an answer.

"It's pretty much what it sounds like," Geralt tells him. "Canoeing on the partially frozen river. The teams paddle where they can, and drag the canoe across the ice where they can't."

"But.. But... a tiny canoe! How do they not just crash into the ice chunks and sink?" Jaskier asks, a little horrified.

"They aren't tiny canoes," Geralt chuckles. "You'll see, they're designed specifically for the ice. Each team has five people, and the boats are a minimum of six meters long, made out of material that can withstand ice impact, and designed to still be able to float with 700 litres of water in them."

"Oh," Jaskier says, eyes widening. "That... is intense." Geralt nods.

Jaskier considers for a moment, and asks, "Is that why you know so much about it? Because it's intense like you? Is that just your schtick, knowing about obscurely intense, dangerous things?" The question draws a half laugh Geralt.

"I know so much about it because I've done it before," Geralt explains with a shrug.

Jaskier stops short, and stares, flabbergasted as Geralt keeps walking. "You what? I was only half joking about you being Captain Intense!" It really shouldn't surprise him, and yet it does. Maybe because it's the first bit of personal information outside of owning Roach that Jaskier has gotten from him.

"Tell me more," Jaskier demands, running to catch up with Geralt again. "You can't just drop a piece of trivia like that and walk away."

"It was only 'walking away' because you stopped walking," Geralt points out.

"Don't distract me. Tell me about your time as an ice canoeist."

"It was just once. My brothers recruited me with a couple of their friends," he explains.

Jaskier had heard about the mysterious brothers from Cerys, and he's pleased that Geralt has confirmed their existence. "How many brothers do you have?" he asks eagerly.

"Two," Geralt tells him. Jaskier files that little tidbit of information away, feeling like he'd just been gifted something precious.

He's about to ask more, to take advantage of Geralt's apparently good humour and openness, but Geralt stops him and points further up river, where in the distance Jaskier can see some dots vaguely in the shape of people and boats. They take up their position near the finish line, and wait. According to Jaskier's watch, the starting pistol should be firing very shortly. There are people lined up all along the bank, and the energy in the air is palpable. Jaskier had been informed that the length of the race could vary wildly, depending on the condition of the river. He really doesn't care about how long the race takes, he's just excited to be watching the action.

The sound of the starting pistol is lost on the wind at this distance, but the cheers that make their way down the line of viewers is enough to indicate the race is off to a start. Sure enough, the blobs in the distance start moving, and a while later, they get close enough to form into the shape of actual people and boats. It's not long after that that Jaskier gets his first clear view of exactly what goes into this race. He watches intently as the teams aggressively paddle their way through the river, trying to manoeuvre their massive boats through the smaller ice blocks. When they reach a section that’s too big or too solid, they push towards it. The person in the very front tucks their paddle away, braces themselves, and then leaps out of the boat, grabbing it by the gunwale and hoisting the front onto the ice. One by one, each member of the team scurries out and grabs the edges to haul it over the ice, the spikes on the bottom of their boots giving them traction on the otherwise treacherous ice. Even though they're all properly outfitted in protective gear, Jaskier is pretty sure that falling into the water would be a recipe for hypothermic disaster.

As he's watching the teams get closer, and closer, he can easily picture Geralt doing what they're doing, sure footed on the ice, strong back shoulders lifting the boat, powerful legs pushing them forward. His mind wanders briefly, distracted by picturing Geralt's muscled body under the layers of winter wear, but stops himself before he can wander too far down that train of thought. Now is hardly the time.

Two teams have pulled ahead of the group and are neck and neck in the final stretch of the race, a third is a short distance behind them, and the rest further back still. The whole crowd is cheering loudly, and Jaskier is cheering right along with them. Even Geralt seems raptly focused on this final push. It's honestly too close to call, until a last heave brings the nose of the bright orange boat across the finish line. A particularly loud cheer erupts from one section of the crowd that Jaskier is guessing is the friends and family of the winning team.

One by one, the rest of the boats cross the line and are dragged up on shore, before being loaded onto their trailers. With all the racers back safe on dry land, the top three teams take their place on a makeshift wooden podium for the presentation of medals, followed by a number of less serious awards, including one for best decorated boat which goes to a very vibrant pink one with intricate designs painted down the sides. (Vibrant, easy to spot colours are a requirement for the boats so they can be seen against the ice, Geralt had explained.)

Once all the awards are handed out, the crowd begins to disperse and head back up towards the sculptures for the judging. Geralt and Jaskier make their way back along the river, taking a bit of space from the crowd. Jaskier is overflowing with excitement, waving his arms in wild gestures as they walk. "Did you see the way they just pick up those massive boats like they weigh nothing?" he exclaims, skipping past Geralt and turning so he's walking backwards while gesticulating. "And the way they just hop in and out like it's nothing-"

"-Jaskier-" Geralt tries to interrupt.

"-It's amazing! Gods, I mean I'm not weak, and I can do a lot of things-"

"Jaskier-"

"-but I definitely don't think I could-"

"JASKIER!"

Geralt is lunging towards him, and it takes Jaskier's brain a half second to catch up as to why. But then he feels his heel catch on something, and suddenly, he's stumbling and falling backwards. He is wearing better boots this time, but his high energy momentum and the slope of the bank are working against him. Geralt makes a grab for him and just misses. Jaskier's heart is in his throat -- one moment he's falling -- then he hits something -- then the air is being punched from his lungs by a freezing cold slap as the water of the river closes over his head.

He surfaces a second later, clawing at the bank of the river and gasping for air. Strong arms are wrapping around him, pulling him back to safety, and Jaskier's numb fingers are clinging to Geralt's jacket for dear life.

"You're okay, I've got you, Jask," Geralt is telling him. Someone else must have seen what happened, because a second later a man that Jaskier vaguely recognises from the tavern is there, helping Geralt pull Jaskier to his feet.

"Come on, I have my truck here, let me drive him, he needs to get out of the cold immediately," the kind stranger says, gesturing to the nearby truck.

"Take us to my place, it's closer," Geralt intructs, not protesting at the offered help.

Jaskier is bundled up and hoisted into the truck, shivering -- and fuck, it's so cold. Geralt's house is less than a two minute drive away, and so in almost no time, Jaskier finds himself being brought into a blissfully warm room after Geralt thanks the driver and assures him they're okay from here.

"Get out of your wet clothes," Geralt orders, pushing Jaskier into the bathroom. Jaskier's fingers fumble with the zipper of his jacket, but Geralt is there to help. Jaskier doesn't protest, just lets Geralt push off his jacket, and holds up his arms so Geralt can pull the soaking wet shirt over his head. Geralt has to undo his pants for him, but Jaskier manages to wiggle them down past his hips on his own after that. Geralt pushes him down to sit on the closed lid of the toilet, and crouches down to unlace Jaskier's boots and slide them off so he can tug the pants the rest of the way free, leaving Jaskier sitting, shivering in just his wet boxer briefs.

"Yo-you know, i-if yo-you wanted t-to get me n-n-naked, you j-just had to ask," Jaskier says through chattering teeth.

"I am trying to keep you from getting hypothermic," Geralt says, clearly not in a mood for Jaskier's jokes. He grabs a giant, soft towel from a cupboard, and wraps it around Jaskier's shoulders. It could very well be the best thing Jaskier has felt in his life. "Dry off, I'll be back with dry clothes."

Geralt disappears out of the bathroom, as Jaskier snuggles deeper into the soft towel, and returns a moment later with a stack of clothes which he sets on the counter. "Get dressed, toss your things in the dryer, and come out to the living room to warm up." Geralt says before turning and leaving alone again.

Geralt's brought him everything -- sweatpants, shirt, hooded sweater, socks, underwear. Jaskier strips out of his own soaking underwear and slowly manages to pull on the dry clothes. Already they have him feeling about a million times better. Before leaving the bathroom, he gathers his wet things and does as Geralt says, tossing them into the dryer which he starts up. His boots, he picks up and carries back to the door, only for Geralt to appear to scoop them up and place them over a wide vent to dry out. Then Jaskier finds himself being firmly ushered into the living room, pushed down onto the couch in front of a now-roaring fire, covered in a blanket and handed a cup of tea. Only then does Geralt seem to relax enough to take a seat next to him.

Neither of them say anything for a long while, which, actually Jaskier is fine with since all he is worried about is slowly warming up, thinking that maybe there is a chance he won't feel chilled to his core for the rest of his life. Surprisingly, it's Geralt that speaks first.

"How are you feeling?" He asks.

"Much better," Jaskier tells him, still clutching his cup close to his chest. "Honestly, Geralt, I can't thank you enough. That was... terrifying."

"Don't thank me,

Jaskier's brow furrows. "Of course I'm going to thank you. You saved me. Again. For real this time."

"I should have caught you from falling in in the first place," Geralt bites out, staring at the fire.

"Geralt...you can't... it was my fault. I should have been watching where I was going. I was the idiot being careless next to a frozen river. I'm just lucky you were there to pull me out."

Geralt doesn't say anything to that, doesn't look away from where his gaze is still boring holes through the flames into the stone behind it. Tentatively, Jaskier reaches across the gap between them and takes Geralt's hand. Geralt still doesn't move, but he also doesn't pull away, which Jaskier takes as a good sign. After a long moment, Geralt shifts, squeezing Jaskier's hand in his and gently swiping his thumb over the back. The gesture has Jaskier’s deciding fuck it, he fell into a river, he deserves comfort, and allows himself to slump over, leaning against Geralt's side, head on his shoulder. He is delighted when Geralt moves to wrap an arm around him and pull him close.

Jaskier closes his eyes and lets himself drift, dozing for a while. When he rouses again, the sun has nearly gone down and dusk is settling outside. He's dimly aware of Geralt's hand rubbing abesently across his outer thigh through the blanket where his legs are curled up. Jaskier is warm, and cozy, and he wants to sink back into it. He hums happily and turns to draw the blanket tighter around himself and snuggles in deeper, pressing his face into the crook of Geralt's neck. He feels more than he hears Geralt chuckle and nudge him back awake. Jaskier groans in protest, but Geralt is gently insistent.

"You need to eat something," Geralt tells him, and Jaskiers response is a muffled 'no.' Geralt chuckles again, a warm rumble in his chest. "Well, then, I need to eat something."

Well, Jaskier can't really argue with that, and he can't keep Geralt from eating, not when Geralt has already done so much for him. Reluctantly, Jaskier sits up and yawns, stretching out his arms and shoulders. His stomach chooses that moment to growl, and Geralt gives him a pointed look. "Sure you don't need to eat something?" He asks.

Jaskier looks over at him, a little sheepish.

It's not long before Geralt has two bowls of some kind of delicious-smelling stew. There's fish that looks like Geralt had caught himself, and the base is packed with flavour and just a hint of spice. It tastes as amazing as it smells, and sticks to Jaskier's ribs, further warming him from the inside. He can almost forget that he'd fallen into a frozen river just a few hours prior.

"This is fantastic," he tells Geralt between mouthfuls. "Seriously. And you just whipped this up in, like, 30 minutes. If you're not careful, you might never be rid of me," he warms. Geralt just hums noncommittally.

Once they're done eating, Jaskier helps tidy up the kitchen, and Geralt goes out to the barn to check on Roach and make sure she’s good for the night. “Roach should come to the Carnival dressed as a reindeer,” Jaskier says once Geralt is back inside, stamping the snow from his boot. Geralt just stops and _looks_ at him.

“Think about it!” Jaskier says as he gives the counter a final wipe down. “She could have little fake antlers. She would be the best and cutest reindeer ever.”

The look Geralt gives him makes his opinion on the matter crystal clear, and Jaskier mutters under his breath and Geralt being absolutely no fun, no sense of humour, and where is the festive spirit, as they settle back on the couch. This time, Jaskier doesn't even bother with pretense before laying himself across Geralt, and Geralt accepts his presence there without protest.

"So," Geralt says after a moment, "Will your river adventure feature in your song?" _Nice segue away from Roach the Red-Nosed Reindeer, Geralt._

As Jaskier looks up, he can see the slight pinch in Geralt's expression as he talks about that afternoon, but at least he's not blaming himself anymore. At least not openly, and Jaskier hopes not at all.

"I think not," Jaskier responds. "While I have no issue with having a laugh at my own expense, I think I will not tarnish the song of this good village with that tale." Though the circumstances were kind of terrible, Jaskier can't argue with how his afternoon ended. Sure, he'd rather not have taken a polar bear swim, but at least getting to snuggle up with Geralt as he is, he gets something positive out of the whole disaster.

"Actually, the song is mostly done," Jaskier admits. "Few revisions to do, a couple of things I want to add and adjust, but the core of it is there." Geralt looks at him with surprise, and Jaskier blushes slightly as he says, "I uh... I wrote most of it last night actually."

Geralt doesn't say anything to that exactly, but he does brush his fingers through Jaskier's now dry, albeit messy hair.

"I'm glad you're enjoying your time here," Geralt does say.

"Me, too. It's- I needed the break. It's nice to get out of the city, get away for awhile." Geralt doesn't say anything, but there is a questioning look on his face, and Jaskier is perfectly warm and comfortable, so he presses on. "It's stupid, really. I'm not actually upset. I'm glad for her, it's good."

"Ah," Geralt says sympathetically, quickly understanding.

"I mean it, it _is_ good," Jaskier insists. "We were never going to fit together long term. Oh don't get me wrong, we had several wonderful, torrid flings. She is a delight -- intelligent, beautiful, Tesse de Stael, the peak of socialite. My parents knew her parents, et cetera. But it was only ever a whirlwind romance, and I played the part beautifully, escorting her to all the fundraising galas, all the most exclusive parties. She humoured me with my music, thought it was charming and quaint." He smiled ruefully, She had liked the idea of showing off an _artist,_ nevermind the fact that the Pankratz name carried its own weight in those same social circles.

"Anyway, it was never anything real, or deep. I introduced her to a friend of mine -- ex of mine actually, he and I parted on good terms -- and I knew as soon as they met they were meant to be together. They, uh, announced their engagement a few weeks ago." Two of his exes, and now they were together happily. "I mean it, I am happy for them. It's just... all anyone was talking about, and I needed to... maybe not hear it for a while." He needed to not be constantly reminded of his own shortcomings, that he was only good for the short term, for some fun, for a wild whirlwind, for a novelty. Nothing more. Nothing meant to last. Even as his mind led him down that path, he tensed, moving to sit up, to close himself off, far too aware that he was setting himself up for more disappointment with Geralt. He'd only known the man a handful of days, and still his heart skipped a beat every time he saw Geralt. But the arm around him tightened fractionally as Geralt held him in place, so Jaskier stayed.

"Coming out here was the best choice I could have made," Jaskier says. "Honestly, it's been a wonderful time. Maybe not the nearly freezing to death thing, that was less fun. But, I think the day is ending alright, over all, so I'm still counting this day a win."

Geralt's quiet for a moment, and Jaskier swears that he can almost hear the sound of him thinking. He suspects this is one of those times where it wouldn't do to push Geralt too much, and so he resists the urge to say something, to ask what's on Geralt's mind. He's rewarded when Geralt at last says, "They aren't technically my brothers. Not by blood."

Jaskier has to try very, _very_ hard to not immediately let his excitement show and ruin the moment. He does permit himself to shift slightly so he can see Geralt's face better as he speaks.

"Lambert and Eskel are their names. We were all... adopted. I guess. Raised by the same man at least. He taught us everything we know. We work in security of a sort. Protection."

"Protection against what?" Jaskier asks, unable to completely suppress his inquisitive nature.

"Monsters," Geralt says with a humourless smile.

That... tracks actually. Jaskier's heard stories, of course. But out here, monsters are more rumours than anything. They don't often get anything that makes it this far over the range, although it does happen from time to time. It's different, up in the foothills as they are, but down in the cities, no one likes to talk about Monsters. It had gotten Jaskier told off on more than one occasion, because he'd been fascinated. All he wanted was more stories about monsters, and the adventuring heroes who killed them. Now, he'd actually met a hero monster slayer. Young Jaskier would be over the moon right now.

"Geralt the Monster Slayer," Jaskier muses. "I could easily write countless songs about that if you'd ever share your stories. I'm guessing that's how you got... injured?" Geralt just looks at him, and Jaskier shrugs. "Cerys might have mentioned something."

Geralt snorts at that, but he nods. "Shattered my leg."

Jaskier pales at the thought of how horrifying and painful that would be. Suddenly a fall in a river doesn't seem near so bad.

"Hazards of the trade. People like me, we're... fortified. We heal quickly. And I know several good doctors, physical and magical. But I needed to heal. I planned to go back to where we grew up, a place on the far side of a pass north of here. But Vesemir sent me here instead. He said it was a better place to rest."

"And is it a better place to rest?" Jaskier asks.

Geralt seems to consider the question for a moment, but eventually nods. "This is a nice town," Geralt says. "There's something about it."

"Yeah, there is," Jaskier agrees. He felt it when he first arrived, even if he wasn't quite sure what it was. And now, after just a few days, he feels it in his bones. This town is something special. Before he can overthink what he's doing, he reaches up and brushes his fingers through Geralt's long hair before bringing them to rest against his jaw. "I'm glad I came here," he says quietly.

Their eyes meet, the moment stretching deep and intense between them, but neither of them look away. The back of Geralt's knuckles brust against his cheek, and then Jaskier doesn't know which of them moves first, but they're leaning into each other, lips pressed together. It's soft at first, almost tentative, then Geralt grips the back of Jaskier's neck and the kiss deepens. Jaskier's lips part, and Geralt seizes the opportunity to brush his tongue against them, drawing a soft gasp from Jaskier before pulling back. They break apart for a moment before Jaskier is leaning in to steal another kiss, quicker this time, his teeth grazing Geralt's lip in return.

They both laugh, soft and breathless, foreheads resting against each other. Geralt's hand is still on his neck, and Jaskier's hand is resting over Geralt's ribs. "I am really, _really_ glad that I came here," Jaskier says.

They share a few more soft words and gentle, unhurried kisses and nothing more as the fire burns low. Eventually, Geralt decides that Jaskier isn't going back home, not when it's dark, and cold. Jaskier is inclined to agree, the last thing he wants right then is to leave and step back into the cold winter night. And that's how he finds himself snuggled down in Geralt's bed, watching as Geralt turns the lights off and slips in beside him. Jaskier doesn't hesitate to press up next to him, head on Geralt's chest and arm draped over his torso. Geralt's arm wraps around him in turn, drawing the blankets up further around them both.

Jaskier falls asleep easily, and honestly, he can't remember the last time he felt this safe and cared for.

* * *

_That's it._ Jaskier thinks as the final chord dissipates in his cabin. That's the song. He's nailed it. He'd left Geralt's place in good time that morning, Geralt had said he'd had work to do, and Jaskier was brimming with the last of the inspiration needed to finish his song. They'd parted ways with another kiss, and Jaskier had gone on his way humming the melody in progress of his composition.

The song was perfect. Definitely his best creation yet. It wasn't a holiday song exactly, but it captured the spirit of the town and the atmosphere of the winter, haunting and uplifting all at the same time. It's obviously meant to be a surprise for the town tomorrow night, even though he's already near bursting at the seams with the need to share it. Maybe he can convince Geralt to let him give a sneak preview later that evening.

A glance at his watch tells him he's running late -- he meant to leave 20 minutes ago, but that's the risk of getting caught up in the creativity. His boots are still a touch damp, but with the thick wool socks Geralt gave him that morning he barely feels it, slipping them back on, and his feet stay toasty.

This afternoon is all about decorating the massive fir tree that sits in the middle of the town square (and, apparently doing a majority of the set up for the carnival tomorrow, but Jaskier is far more interested in the tree). On his way, he takes a detour back to the ice sculptures since he missed seeing the finished products the day before, and is delighted to learn that the moose carving is not only more beautiful than he envisioned, but also ended up winning first place. The sculptures will all be moved later that day and used to decorate the square and Main Street. Beautiful additions, Jaskier thinks, and he secretly hopes the majestic moose will get a place of honour right by the tree.

When he arrives back at the tree, the decorating is already underway. Massive wooden crates have been brought out from storage, tall step ladders circle the tree, and several people are already climbing up them, armed with strings of lights that they pass around and around with practiced ease. He finds Cerys with Majorie unpacking a box of strong but delicate metal snowflake decorations, and settles in to help them.

"You're alive!" Cerys says by way of a greeting. Marjorie looks at her in confusion, and Cerys explains, "Jaskier was so inspired by the racers yesterday, he decided to take a swim in the river.”

"The rumours of my demise are greatly exaggerated," Jaskier agrees. "So, you heard about that, then?"

"Small town, word travels fast," Cerys explains like it should be obvious. Which, fair. Jaskier knows how quickly a rumour spreads in high social circles, he's not surprised they have a similar velocity in a small, close-knit town. At least here people are nicer about it. Probably.

"So, how is Geralt?" Cerys asks, her eyes glimmering with evil, conniving implications.

"Remind me why I decided to be friends with you," Jaskier mutters, hiding his blush by suddenly becoming very focused on the decorations he is pulling out and collecting over his fingers in preparation to hang. Majorie is hassling Cerys, desperate for information that Cerys is only too happy to provide.

"You see, dear Marjorie," she says in a fake conspiratorial whisper. "The ever-mysterious Geralt was the one who saved our intrepid Jaskier from the icy hold of the river and carried him back to his own home."

"He didn't carry me, someone drove us," Jaskier corrects over his shoulder as he stands and sets about hanging the decorations, passing a few up to the people on the ladders to spread among the higher branches. "And he took me to his place because it was closer, and I was fucking freezing."

"And no one saw our dear Jaskier until just now," she concludes. She is grinning like a loon and Marjorie is barely managing to suppress giggles beside her. Jaskier hates them both. Except for how he doesn't, but he can still pretend to ignore them. It lasts all of ten seconds before Cerys is bumping shoulders with him playfully.

"Geralt is fine, last I saw him," Jaskier tells her primly.

They leave the matter be after that, distracted as they are by the decorating. There is no real rhyme or reason to what they're doing, no real planning or coordination, but somehow, the result is beautiful. There is still a way to go, and they won't see the full effect until the official lighting tomorrow night, but already Jaskier can see that it's going to be stunning.

It's been a long time since he's decorated like this, and he's enjoying joking around with Cerys and Marjorie, but he still wishes that he could share the experience with Geralt, too. Geralt had said that morning that he had things to do that day, and that was perfectly fine — it’s not like he expects Geralt to be available every second of every day — but Jaskier is still cursing himself for forgetting to get Geralt's number so he could send him a photo of their work in progress from his own remarkably still functional phone.

He's just pulling himself up from emptying the bottom of a crate when he happens to look over in the direction of the cafe, where Geralt just happens to be stepping outside, holding the door for one of the most stunningly gorgeous women Jaskier has ever seen. Her long black hair hangs in perfect waves, her fur-trimmed coat perfectly accentuates the sway of her hips, and even from this distance Jaskier can see her flawless complexion and immaculately put-together face. Jaskier swallows thickly as the woman laughs at something Geralt says, and takes his arm in her hand. They walk together down the sidewalk, unhurried, leaning towards each other with the comfortable familiarity of two people who just fit together. They eventually stop at a vehicle that is clearly hers. She turns towards him, and they exchange a few words. And then she leans in and kisses him, her perfect lips pressed to the corner of his mouth, and Jaskier knows _exactly_ how that mouth feels pressed against his own. Suddenly, his vision is blurring from the sting of hot tears, and he turns away, wiping his eyes. Geralt was definitely busy alright. Gods, he's such a fucking idiot.

The rest of the afternoon passes in a blur, and Jaskier's cheer feels hollow and empty, but he refuses to let Geralt ruin his perfectly lovely afternoon. His evening, on the other hand, is a different story.

"So fucking stupid," Jaskier tells Cerys over his third glass of whisky. She'd cornered him after dinner, finding him sitting morosely in a quiet corner of the tavern. "Of course he would have someone. Of course he would have someone fucking inhumanely perfect."

Cerys makes a sympathetic noise and pours them both another round from the bottle she'd decided to just bring over to the table. She'd left Crach in charge of the bar for the night, this was an emergency, she'd declared. Gods, Jaskier adores her. She'd just sat there and listened patiently as he spilled his guts about the night before -- how they'd talked, how Geralt had actually told him things about himself. About how they'd traded kisses, and how they'd fallen asleep and woken up tangled together. He supposes the existence of the mystery woman explains why Geralt hadn't made any inclination for anything more than kissing and sharing a bed in the strictest sense.

"Should have known better than to get my hopes up," Jaskier whines, throwing his drink back in one shot and dropping his forehead against the table. Cerys reaches over and ruffles his hair gently. It feels nice, but not as nice as when Geralt had done it. Fucking Geralt. Jaskier is used to being the fling, the novelty, he'd told Geralt as much. Of course Geralt would have thought that meant Jaskier was open to the same with him, while in all his idiocy, he’d dared to day dream that Geralt might be different. But Jaskier is just a festive fling. He’s only visiting, after all. He never should have allowed himself to dream of more.

The night blurs after that as he and Cerys finish the bottle of whisky between them. Eventually, though, she shoos him back to his cabin to sleep it off -- he's got to be at his best tomorrow.

"You're right," he says by the back door of the tavern with a decisive nod. His tongue is heavy, and the words are hard to form, but he manages. "I came here refusing to be sad about romance. 'M not gonna let Geralt make me sad about romance. Gotta... gotta celebrate tomorrow. You're all so good."

"You're good, too, Jaskier," she tells him, hugging him close and pressing a friendly kiss to his forehead.

He makes it back to his cabin and falls face first into bed, and drops immediately into a thankfully-dreamless sleep.

* * *

The following morning is... not his best. The hangover actually isn't as bad as he was expecting, but he still feels hollow and wrung out. He's seriously considering the merits of just hiding in bed all morning when there is an obnoxious thud knocking against the cabin door, and then Cerys is barreling in. "Get up," she orders, coming into his room, and yanking down the blankets that Jaskier has pulled over his head. The only reason he doesn't loudly object is because she's also brought him fresh coffee, which he takes gratefully as he sits up.

"You made me promise last night that I wasn't going let this day be ruined for you by letting you sulk, and that's exactly what I intend to do," she announces.

Jaskier is pretty sure he didn't actually make her promise that, but he's not going to point that out. Besides, her expression leaves no room for argument. "Come on. Breakfast is up, and it's the good holiday shit."

Jasker swallows his protests with his coffee, and drags himself from bed to get dressed. Breakfast does sound good, and Cerys is right. His week has been too good to allow it to be spoiled now.

He knows that Cerys and Crach have their own individual homes near the tavern, but they've co-opted the tavern kitchen for the breakfast meal. Apparently, this is some kind of tradition. The morning of the carnival, Ard Skellig hosts a breakfast for all the volunteers, though breakfast feels like an understatement for the feast that Crach lays out. There are pies and pastries filled with various combinations of eggs and meats and cheese and vegetables, thin crepes rolled up and drizzled with fruit, and endless variety of other smoked meats, and breads, and more cheeses.

There is another man running back and forth to the kitchen with Crach, younger, closer to Cerys’ age. She introduces him as her brother, Hjallmar, who apparently had arrived sometime the day before, but who Jaskier had missed completely on account of his distractions. The two bicker as only siblings can, but there is no mistaking the fondness between them, or the love and pride on their father's face. Clan an Craite are just all good people, Jaskier decides as he takes a seat and digs into all the dishes laid before him.

It's definitely enough to chase off the last of the hangover, and almost enough to make him want a post-feast nap. They're definitely fuelled for the day, and they pack up to head out while a few people stay behind to tidy the kitchen and make it ready for the post-festival celebration. Jaskier isn't sure his liver can handle another celebration like his first night, but that's not going to stop him from trying.

The carnival itself is everything Jaskier could have wanted, both as a child and as an adult. Sure, he'd been to his fair share of family Garden Parties and Holiday Parties growing up, and of course there had been entertainment and activities for the children. But it was nothing like this beautiful, unbridled, organised chaos. He makes a point to participate in every single activity and photographs them all -- footprint tag, snowman building, craft making, he does it all. And he feels exceptionally delighted when the young boy he'd been helping to make a cardboard wreath ornament makes a second one and gifts it to Jaskier. He tucks it away carefully for safe keeping, and absolutely does not get a little misty eyed.

The sun is dropping in the sky, and it's almost time for the lighting of the tree which will happen just as night falls. After that, it'll be Jaskier's time to shine on the small stage set up for him in the middle of the square. He's just thinking about heading back to his cabin to grab his guitar and do some warm ups so he can make it back in time to see the tree lighting when the last person he expects-- or wants-- to see appears right in front of him.

"Geralt!" Jaskier yelps in surprise after almost crashing into him.

"Jask. I've been looking for you," Geralt says warmly. He reaches out easily to place his hand against Jaskier's waist, but Jaskier tenses and steps back. Geralt's warm expression immediately disappears into something confused, cold and guarded. For a moment, Jaskier feels like an ass, but no. He's setting a boundary even though it would be so easy to take the little scraps of affection that Geralt offers him.

"I'm sorry," Jaskier says, polite and distant, a tone he's honed well over the years. "I shouldn't have kissed you. I didn't realise."

"Realise what?" Geralt demands, a hint of anger and confusion flashing across his face.

"That you already had someone. If I had known, I never would have."

"Jaskier, what are you talking about?" Geralt snaps. So, that's it's going to be then. If Geralt is going to play dumb, Jaskier has no problem spelling it out for him.

"The woman you were with yesterday. Tall, stunning good looks, clearly intimate with you. Kisses you. Ring any bells?"

Geralt brow furrows as he says, "Yen? No, Yen is just-"

"-Clearly someone very important to you." Jaskier cuts him off. "Look, Geralt, I appreciate you looking after me after the river. I'm sorry if I gave you the wrong impression, but I'm not going to be some secret side piece for you. Some novel fling."

"Jaskier, let me-"

Jaskier shakes his head. "Look, I have to go rehearse. The performance starts soon." He takes a step back and turns around quickly. "See you around Geralt."

He ducks into a small crowd and disappears before Geralt can stop him. His stomach is twisting into knots, and by the time he reaches the cabin, he's crying again. But it's better this way, he tells himself. He just wishes he believed himself.

* * *

The Lighting of the Tree is nothing short of magic. It feels like nearly the whole town has gathered around, and in the seconds before, the air is completely still as every person seems to hold their collective breath. And then suddenly, light is shining, a bright beacon of hope and community against the dark night sky, and the crowd cheers as one. It sends a shiver up Jaskier's spine, and he takes a moment to commit that moment and everything he is feeling to memory. It's something special he wants to hold on to, and he continues to channel that as he makes his way up onto the stage where his guitar is waiting for him along with a small sound system to help carry his music across the square.

He starts that performance much the same as he had his first at Ard Skellig just a few days prior, introducing himself, sharing some of his first impressions of the town. The set list for this performance is even more carefully crafted than the last. He knows the town and its residents better now, and every song he plays is carefully chosen with them in mind. Again, he balances the upbeat dances and the classics that coax people to sing with the ballads meant to make them feel deeply. In between, he regales them in tales from his experiences that week, including the fateful river story, even though it makes something in his chest twist painfully. He leaves out the part about everything that came after.

Before he knows it, he's winding down, and the only thing left is to play the song he wrote specifically for them. He's glad he managed to finish it before things turned sour with Geralt, otherwise it might have been a struggle. As it stands, there are still a lot of his feelings in it, but in true artistic fashion, he taps into that and pours everything he is feeling into the song. In his practising of if, he'd thought it perfect, but he realises now that that was nothing compared to playing it as a gift to these people who've welcomed him, loved him, shared their lives and traditions with him. The notes meld with his voice, soaring on the crisp night air, and the crowd is utterly still and silent. He sees smiles, tears, people holding hands, as he performs like a man possessed, weaving a spell that capitaves everyone around him. There is a part of him that wishes he could live in this moment forever, even knowing that part of its beauty comes from the fact that it is unique and fleeting.

The last note lingers, fades, and there is another moment of silence before the crowd erupts in a massive cheer. Jaskier's heart soars, and he feels more alive than he's ever felt before. Grinning like an absolute fool, he takes a low bow, and when he rises, his eyes scan along the edge of the crowd --

\-- and land on a reindeer. Trotting up to the stage. With a rider wearing a festive hat. It takes him a moment and a serious double take to realise the reindeer is actually Roach, and the rider is Geralt.

He'd dressed Roach up like a reindeer, and brought her to Jaskier's performance.

Their eyes meet, and Geralt looks at him, almost pleading. Jaskier gives him a short nod. He says his thanks into the mic, waves at the audience, and takes the time to quickly put his guitar away. It gives him a much needed moment to compose himself. He wonders what in the hell Geralt could possibly want. Jaskier had made himself pretty clear that afternoon, he thought. But then Geralt had to go and show up in a perfect, ridiculous hat, on a fucking reindeer Roach, just as Jaskier had wanted. So whatever he has to say, it must be important if he's gone to these lengths to get Jaskier's attention.

Guitar case at his side, Jaskier hops off the edge of the stage where Geralt is waiting, standing beside Roach, looking... Jaskier would almost say nervous.

"Jaskier," he says, and well, that's a start. Jaskier says nothing in reply, just waiting. "I. Yen. She's... an old friend." Yeah, Jaskier had gathered that much. "She and I, we're not-" Geralt pauses, considering, looking at Jaskier so intently, it almost feels like Geralt is looking into his very soul. "She's... my Tesse." Geralt says at last.

Oh.

_Oh._

And just like that, everything slides into place. Their closeness, the way that Yen and Geralt moved so easily and comfortably with each other. The flickers of conflicted emotion evident on Geralt’s face... Jaskier knows that feeling far too well.

"Yen and I go back a long way. She's important to me. She always will be. And she was one of the people who helped me after... before I came here. But we don't... fit."

He isn't the whirlwind that will never be stable, Jaskier realises. Yen is.

And that's okay, he realises. Tesse de Stael will always be important to Jaskier. She will always have a place in his heart. As will Yen for Geralt.

"Geralt, I'm so-"

"Don't. I am, too. Sorry. I could have told you… something. I didn't ever mean-" Jaskier doesn't give him a chance to finish. For once, he's tired of words. Instead, he surges forward, guitar case clattering awkwardly as he kisses Geralt again -- this time with purpose and intention, completely uncaring of who’s nearby or watching. Geralt's hands find his waist and hold him close, kissing him back in a way that feels like a promise.

"Jaskier!" Someone calls, and Jaskier reluctantly breaks the kiss.

"I have to go deal with my adoring fans," Jaskier says apologetically. "Come to Ard Skellig?"

Geralt nods, and Jaskier feels considerably lighter as he turns away to greet the people calling for him.

* * *

Jaskier is halfway through sharing a story, and it's a good thing his pint glass is half empty, because the beer inside it is sloshing as he waves his hands to make a point. He feels an arm snake around his waist, and glances over as Geralt fits himself right into Jaskier's side. Jaskier smiles at him and finishes the story that is met with raucous laughter.

Jaskier's attention is in high demand, so it's several minutes still before he can turn his focus fully to Geralt. But when he does it's worth the wait. Geralt's smile is soft, and warm, and only for him. "Hi," Jaskier says happily as he drapes his arms around Geralt's shoulders. "I haven't had the chance to ask you, what did you think of my song? Three words or less."

"It was perfect," Geralt tells him, and that might very well be the best review he's received all evening. "What's next for you, Jaskier the Winter Siren?"

Ohhh, he likes that.

"Well," Jaskier says thoughtfully, "I have to return to my parent's place tomorrow for a few days. Celebrate with them, family obligations, you know." He doesn't think he's wrong in thinking Geralt looks disappointed at that. "After that, I'm not sure. I hadn't planned to stay here at first, but this town is growing on me. As you said, it's special. And it's certainly inspiring. Maybe I should come back for a while? What do you think?"

"Jaskier!" Cerys hollers at him before Geralt can respond. He rolls his eyes and looks over at her. She grins at him, and points up. Confused, he looks above his head and sees a sprig of mistletoe right above them.

"Oh, would you look at that," he remarks. Geralt takes the opportunity to observe tradition, and also show Jaskier _exactly_ what he thinks about Jaskier coming back for a while.

Maybe a long while.

It's the perfect plan.

**Author's Note:**

> 1.) Many Indigenous people also have their own wonderful legends and myths that are really worth learning about. However, since it was Crach an Craite telling the story, I felt it most appropriate to draw on Norse mythology
> 
> 2.) [Ice Canoeing](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ice_canoeing) is 100% a real thing Canada created because after spending years hauling boats down the frozen St. Laurence seaway, we decided, 'Fuck it, let's make it a sport.'
> 
> Come say hi on [tumblr!](https://dapperanachronism.tumblr.com)


End file.
